


Nymphmomania

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-07
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder mysteriously becomes irresistible. No, really, people can't resist him. What happens in one uncontrollable week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for Tiptoe39.

Later, he would try to think back to the day it started. He'd been busy-- did a lot of lab work, talked with a few new people-- and Mohinder never would find out what exactly caused what he would forever refer to as That Week.

He would never forget that week, as much as he would like to edit out parts, but whatever had sent him into such an embarrassingly frenzied state apparently sharpened his memories of the time. He could close his eyes and feel hands on him, hear the exact pitch of any moan he chose, smell sweat and musk.

It began on a Monday.

Mohinder didn't mind Mondays as much as most people. There was plenty to do, and if he was lucky everyone else had as much work to keep them out of his way. All morning he met with newly-identified evolved humans, three of them: a teenage boy who could extend his limbs like rubber ("Like Mr. Fantastic," the boy said, and Mohinder smiled blankly), a college-age woman with the ability to make things grow (the bonsai tree he 'borrowed' from Bob's office wasn't so bonsai any more), and an older woman who smirked the entire time he did the initial forms, until she had to confess that her power was limited to seeing through thin things-- boxes, cargo trailers, cubicle walls, and Mohinder's clothing.

After that he retreated to his lab and locked the door behind him. His afternoon was full of blood samples, slides from every special person carefully arranged to be inspected one by one.

At 4:30, he cleaned up, stowed the samples in the refrigerated cabinet, locked his lab up behind him, and when he passed Elle Bishop on his way out, he reached out and grabbed her arm for no reason he could figure out.

"Hey, careful there, Doc--" Her blue eyes went huge as he walked her backward against the hallway wall, leaned down, and kissed her urgently, hands tangling in her long hair. "--whoa, hey there."

"Do you want me, Elle?" He barely recognized his own voice, low and slow and sticky-sweet like honey. She barely paused before nodding fervently, manicured nails sliding into his curls and scratching over his scalp in a spine-tingling pleasant way.

"Not in the _hallway_," she yelped when two of his fingers made a steady assault on the clasps of her skirt. "Wow, okay, back in your lab now." Elle zapped him, just a little, a spark from her hand to his chasing him away from her waistband; her gait was unsteady as her heels clicked rapidly back down the hall.

"I can't help it," Mohinder breathed, pressed fully against her as he fumbled the key into the lock, "something about you today..." She kicked the door closed behind them, immediately going to pull his shirt over his head.

"Took you long enough. I wanted this the first time I saw you." Her breath came in short surprised huffs when his hands went to her breasts, cupping them through the layers of her shirt and bra. She nearly had to fight him off just to strip herself, and as soon as she moved his hands off her breasts they went right to her thighs, slipping up her skirt and teasing warm bare skin with his fingertips. "Holy-- what has gotten into you, Mohinder?" she asked, laughing, her perfect breasts bouncing with each giggle.

"I have no idea," he answered honestly, but more important than that question was the taste of her milk-pale skin under his mouth, stubble scratching the white skin pink in his wake. Her lashes fluttered when he caught a candy-pink nipple between his lips, one hand fisting in his dark hair.

"Jeez, you-- we need to sit down," she said vaguely, and he held onto her shapely bottom with both hands to steady her.

"Undo my pants." Her fingers slipped, by accident or design he couldn't tell, but her small hand on his erection was such a quick tease that he could barely stand it until she pushed them down below his hips. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he pulled Elle onto his lap until they were grinding against each other, separated only by his boxer-briefs and her barely-there thong.

"Oh my god." Arms wound around his neck, Elle moved her hips in little circles and whimpered. "God, Mohinder, you're so much--" Whatever he was was lost in her cry when he slid a hand between them, dragging his fingers through her wet folds and sliding one into her testingly. She was so slick, so hot, so--

He shoved down his underwear enough to let his cock spring free, held aside the scrap of lace she called panties, and slid into her smoothly, groaning at how _fucking good_ it felt to have her atop him, around him, his face buried between her breasts and her lithe little body rocking and shifting and driving him mad...

Her voice made it through the rush of blood in his ears, one word over and over-- "Please," her voice gone high and girlish with begging. "Do anything, just please rub me!" Usually Mohinder was more considerate than to forget that. He shifted his hand, found her clit with his thumb; the moment he touched her she cried out, body going tight around him and a low-level electric current dancing over her skin. "Yeah, yeah..." He didn't let up, not until she came again, and then he felt justified in flipping over, her back on the table and her ass in his hands as he fucked into her deeper and harder and so, so good, the senseless look on her face and the flush on her skin, firm curves and those lovely legs wrapped around him--

Mohinder pressed his forehead to her shoulder, hips driving against her, and bit down as he came. When he pulled out there was a purple mark on her collarbone, her hair was a mess and her intimate flesh was red, puffy, wet and sticky with their fluids.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed, blue eyes on the ceiling. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"Don't tell me you've never simply taken what you want," Mohinder answered, rolling his shoulders and smiling with contentment. "You're so pretty when you're all ruined like this."

"Huh?" He didn't repeat himself, simply tossed her a wet cloth to clean herself up; he already had his pants up and fastened, and when he tugged on his shirt before she even had her skirt untwisted from around her waist, Elle got flustered under his lazy, half-interested stare.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Elle. Have a good night." Without a kiss, an affectionate pat, even a wink and a smile, he left. Elle sat on his desk, dressing slowly, and wondered if she'd just gotten what she wanted, or if she'd been used.

Frankly, after he made her come that hard, she couldn't bring herself to care too much.


	2. Tuesday

Mohinder didn't usually hate Tuesdays, but he had serious doubts about this one when he woke up pitching a tent after dreaming all night about sex-- romantic sex, playful sex, frantic up against a wall sex, kinky sex, angry sex, just about any kind he could think of. But who'd been in the dreams too...

Mohinder dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. Oh, god. He prayed that he woke before Matt did.

Realizing that he'd slept late meant that Matt had to have been up for a while, long enough to get Molly ready to go to school. When Mohinder crept from his room, already shame-faced, Matt looked over from his position on the couch.

"Weird night?" he offered hesitantly, and Mohinder winced. It took everything he had not to run the rest of the way into the bathroom.

"Unusual and disturbing one," he answered instead, and Matt's cheeks took on more than a hint of red. Instantly and despite himself, Mohinder remembered a snippet of a dream-- _Matt's head tipped back, the big man writhing on the bed as Mohinder nipped a steady trail from above his heart to below his navel, "Mohinder please yes"_\-- and both of their faces flushed darker.

"I'm-- I'm sorry, you're just thinking like a loudspeaker, and wow, your subconscious is really detailed, isn't it? I'm going to stop talking now," Matt babbled. Mohinder contemplated Matt's face for a moment-- familiar, comforting Matt, friend and confidante and, well.

Once Mohinder made his mind up, he started to lean in; Matt gasped when the thought struck him, then surged up to meet him halfway, their chins knocking together and a bit of trouble about noses and then, ah, Matt's mouth was just as soft as it looked, warm and sweet from his morning coffee. Even just one of his hands felt too huge to resist, and Mohinder let Matt direct this kiss, amazed at how easy it had been to cross a bridge he'd been hesitating to try for months.

"If you had said something-- anything," Matt said between kisses, "If I knew you felt this way at all..."

"It rather blindsided me," Mohinder admitted, "I can hardly stand how much I want you right now, Matthew."

"So don't stand it." Matt stood up, eyes bright and shoulders squared. "I have got to touch you. Explore you. I really, _really_ want to taste you, so come on."

Watching the broad line of Matt's back as he went ahead, Mohinder sighed. Whatever had happened to him last night was still on, but at least now something good was coming from it-- Elle was scary, sociopathic; Matt was comfortable, he wanted this too, there was a thin wall that had been broken and now they had the opportunity to come together.

Matt's kind brown eyes were slightly nervous when he turned, tugging at the throat of the t-shirt he'd worn to bed. "Yeah?" he asked, making sure that Mohinder was still with him. Mohinder smiled, pulling Matt's shirt off before leaning up to kiss him again.

"Oh yes." He ran both hands over Matt's chest-- a bit of a belly, lightly hairy, four knots of scar tissue still red and newish from Kirby Plaza. "Yes, Matthew. It's taken us too long already."

Matt was the mindreader, but Mohinder was keyed into the responses of Matt's body, searching out the places he liked to be kissed, where teeth were welcomed, where Mohinder could anchor his fingers while mouthing Matt's skin hungrily. When he paused to kiss every bullet scar, Matt pulled the shoulders of his shirt.

"You're the beautiful one. Let me see you, Mohinder." The shirt sent already-tousled curls into chaos until Matt's hands pushed them back and pulled Mohinder down into a kiss. Lying between Matt's legs, arms propped on either side of him, Mohinder was happy to get lost in kissing; he simply couldn't stop grinding against Matt at the same time, trying to balance what his body wanted (sex, hard, fast, now) and what he wanted (kissing, petting, long thrilling foreplay).

Matt's fingers hooked into the band of Mohinder's pajama pants, pulling them out but not down, teasing with the backs of his fingers while his mouth worked up and down Mohinder's throat. "Matt... tell me what you want," Mohinder demanded, pulling back and staring into those open, honest, knowing eyes.

"I want to." Matt broke off, palming Mohinder against his belly while tugging his pants down. "I want to taste you. Let me suck you," he said in a rush, and Mohinder's whole body quivered at the huskiness of Matt's voice, the naked desire for _him_.

"Yes, oh." Matt pulled Mohinder up his body, until lithe dark thighs bracketed his shoulders and the tip of Mohinder's erection smeared precome against Matt's cheekbone.

"Do that again," Matt purred, and Mohinder responded almost before he could think, taking himself in hand and tapping against Matt's lips, gently slapping his cheeks; usually Mohinder would have giggled if he'd been asked to do this, but with Matt's eyes closed and his lips parted, such a look of bliss on his face...

"Gorgeous," Mohinder groaned, "you're gorgeous," and Matt whimpered and lifted his head enough to catch the head of Mohinder's cock in his mouth, curling his tongue around and pulling him in.

That was the end of words for a while: the slurps of Matt sucking and the thoughtless heartfelt groans Mohinder made in return filled the space between them. Matt's broad hands encompassed Mohinder's ass, fingertips just barely brushing the cleft, and he pulled back with a gasp and four desperately rough words: "Can I have you?"

His meaning was eminently clear, and Mohinder's acquiescence just as obvious. Eyes lighting up, Matt lifted Mohinder a bit, just enough to shift the smaller man further down his body, allowing Matt to sit up. "How do you--"

"Just like this," Matt whispered, going in for another bout of kissing; Mohinder slid one hand up into short dark hair and tugged Matt back for a moment.

"We need-- hold on, I've got it." He had to stretch to reach his bedside table, but Matt's strong hands supported the long lean of his side until Mohinder dragged a mostly-full tube of lubricant over. No wonder he was so ravenous for sex, he hadn't so much as jerked off in weeks... His thoughts went away as Matt took the lube and nibbled gently at Mohinder's jawline.

"Mohinder..." When he made a questioning sound, Matt shook his head. "I like saying your name." Both hands behind Mohinder, there was no warning when a warm slick finger traced his opening except for the little huff of breath Matt let out against Mohinder's lips, answered with a sigh as that finger pressed in steadily.

"More," Mohinder requested, reaching between them to take the measure of Matt's cock with both hands. He was thick, more so than anyone Mohinder had ever slept with, and a thrill of anticipation ran down his spine. "Please, I want this, I want you-- open me up, Matt, take me!"

"God almighty." Matt's epithet was soft but fierce, his eyes sparking fire when their gazes met, and when he swallowed his Adam's apple bobbed visibly. "Okay, yeah." One finger went right to three, a sudden stretch that left Mohinder panting and pressing his face to the crook of Matt's neck, pushing back against his fingers. Scissoring, twisting them, Matt worked Mohinder open enough for one more finger and let one search out Mohinder's prostate, glancing over the spot and bringing tears to Mohinder's eyes.

Rearranging themselves was easy: Mohinder wrapped his legs around Matt, Matt bent his knees up for Mohinder to lean back against, and they eased together, Mohinder's hips lowering at a slow pace, sheathing Matt within him and savoring every moment. Pressing their foreheads together, neither one moved for a minute but to press little kisses to the other's cheeks. "So good," Mohinder breathed, "this feels so good."

Lacing his hands together behind Mohinder's back, Matt nipped his lower lip and asked, "How's this?" He shifted, rocking back and forth slightly, and couldn't help a dizzy grin when Mohinder's head fell back. "You're so damn beautiful..."

Mohinder had to hold onto Matt's shoulders for leverage to move himself, but once they found a rhythm it was almost too much: every other thrust hit the spot that electrified his nerves, every kiss notched the urgency up a touch more, until Mohinder did no more than jerk his hips twice, rubbing himself against Matt's soft stomach, before he came harder than he could remember ever climaxing in his life.

"Oh, wow. Wow, Mohinder," Matt mumbled, one hand sliding up to catch the back of his neck. He carefully eased Mohinder down and then leaned over him, still balls-deep, and kissed his face softly. "You're _beautiful_," he whispered before rolling his hips, so much easier to thrust deep into Mohinder's sleek pliant body. "Mohinder, yeah," he chanted the man's name like a prayer, coming with it on his lips.

The sweat between them had cooled before either one thought of moving away; long moments were spent kissing and nuzzling, stroking each other's skin, Matt trying not to say and Mohinder trying not to think anything that would make this awkward.

When the phone rang, Mohinder twitched. A glance over Matt's shoulder made him wince. "It's ten thirty. We're both so late..." Gently, Matt cupped his chin in one hand, giving him a reassuring smile.

"And it was so worth it." One more brief kiss, and Matt rolled off the bed with a groan. "You can take the shower. I have to call in an excuse."

Mohinder didn't move for a moment, just watching Matt walk away: solid, steady Matt, built to a scale that made him feel like safety when he wrapped himself around Mohinder.

He was afraid he'd hate Tuesday, but all things considered, it was fantastic-- even despite the soreness that kept him on his feet for the rest of the day.


	3. Wednesday

Mohinder had never heard Wednesday called "Hump Day" until he came to America. In fact, he didn't hear it called that until the Wednesday that Peter Petrelli decided to stop into the Primatech facility. As far as Mohinder knew, there was no reason for him to be there besides to annoy his mother (and everyone else), but he wasn't bothered when the mopey, obviously bored man walked into his lab.

"How's your Hump Day going?" Peter said offhandedly as he closed the lab door behind him. Mohinder shot a confused look over his shoulder.

"Excuse me?" Coming up beside the scientist, Peter drew a line on the table, rising in the middle and leveling out.

"Hump day. Middle of the week, once you get past it you coast to the weekend."

"If only," Mohinder sighed, stepping away from the microscope and the table-- and Peter, who smelled ridiculously good. Moving to his desk didn't deter Peter, who followed and leaned his hip against the corner where Mohinder's inbox sat.

"What are you doing these days? I haven't seen you since-- in a while," he finished awkwardly. Mohinder resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The last time he saw Peter, he was trying to hold Matt's blood into his chest, and Peter was a sun-bright orb in the night sky.

"I've been busy. Working here, raising Molly Walker..."

"Oh, you live with Matt now," Peter said, and Mohinder bit the inside of his cheek. Not bad enough he had a telepath at home, no... "I'm sorry! Ever since-- well, it's hard to keep a check on it." Peter offered a lopsided smile, exactly like a puppy begging forgiveness, and Mohinder sighed.

"It's all right. I'm amazed I haven't started expecting my thoughts to be invaded." Especially when the thoughts came unbidden, like his dream of Matt-- or the sudden, inexplicable, intense desire to find out if Peter tasted as good as he smelled. "Come here, Peter."

"Yeah?" No sooner had Peter moved from the far corner of the desk to the near before Mohinder leaned up and inhaled deeply at the collar of Peter's shirt. "Um, what are you doing?"

"You smell wonderful. Are you wearing some kind of cologne?"

"Not today-- oh hey, that tickles, cut it out!" Mohinder's nose dragged from under Peter's jawline to right behind his ear, and there was no warning at all before his teeth closed gently around Peter's earlobe. "Oh, jeez, Mohinder, what--"

Shutting him up was easy. Mohinder lifted two fingers to Peter's lips to silence him; instead of letting them lie across his lips, Peter pulled them into his mouth and sucked lazily, humming with pleasure at how Mohinder nibbled on him. Running his free hand up Peter's narrow chest, Mohinder made a snap decision.

"Lift up for a moment," he ordered, pulling his fingers away to work open Peter's belt. Peter kept his hips up until Mohinder unzipped and tugged his pants down, revealing Peter's cock straining the front of his black briefs. He arched an eyebrow at the younger man.

"I don't know, I've been hard since I walked in here. As soon as I saw you. I can't explain i-_it_!" Peter's voice rose abruptly as Mohinder took Peter in his mouth, lazily running his tongue over the head.

"I, I thought you-- and Matt--?" His mouth was making weak protests, but Peter's body was right on track, one hand curling in Mohinder's hair and the other cupping his cheek, feeling the drag of himself inside Mohinder's mouth.

"We haven't really discussed it yet," Mohinder said smoothly when he sat back, licking his lips and looking up at Peter through his lashes. "I could stop."

"Please don't," Peter said quickly, "Really, please." The more flustered the younger Petrelli was, the more adorable he seemed, and right now Peter was positively _edible_ with cute. Mohinder molded a hand to his barely-there ass and swallowed Peter again, feeling out the little details with the tip of his tongue: the unusually thick vein along the underside, the sensitive place where shaft met head, the way Peter responded to the prod of a tonguetip against the slit.

Once he stopped thinking about it, Peter's instinctive responses were marvelous; his voice was honest in its little tremors and breaks, his hips trying not to move but still rolling in restless shifts, and the sudden jerk of his spine when Mohinder's fingers dared into the cleft of his ass was simply perfect.

"Okay, whoa-- I think I'm-- you might wanna--" His attempt to warn Mohinder away was endearing but unnecessary. Mohinder pinned both Peter's wrists to the desk and flirted his tongue around until Peter had no choice but to come, going still and breathless as he flooded Mohinder's mouth.

"Ah..." Mohinder sat back, stroking Peter's thighs affectionately. "Like I said. Wonderful." Peter's brown eyes were dazed, vague, but he had enough presence of mind to catch Mohinder by the neck and pull him close enough to twine around.

"Wow." Of course, Peter's personality loaned itself to cuddling and sweetness; Mohinder let him nuzzle under his jaw, rake teeth over his stubble, send his skin tingling in Peter's wake. "That was. Um." He spidered pale fingers into Mohinder's lab coat, up under his shirt, fingertips soft on ticklish skin. "Awesome."

"Yeah?" In his professional life, Mohinder was something of an altruist. Left hard and wanting after giving an above-average blowjob, he was a bit more selfish, nudging Peter's hand from his stomach to his waistband. "You don't have to do that, just touch me..."

"I can do that," Peter affirmed; Mohinder was fairly sure that he didn't undo his pants with a hand, considering that one had slid down to cup him through his shorts, and the other was holding Mohinder close to kiss. Still, he wasn't going to complain, least of all when he looked down to see a slender hand pulling him free of clothing, working up the length with dry fingertips. Peter lifted his hand between their faces. "Spit."

With both their saliva slicking the friction away, the contact went from merely good to just-this-edge-of-enough. Mohinder panted out half-coherent orders into Peter's ear-- "Faster, oh god, twist-- no, other wa-aaah, yes, like that, _Peter_!"

"Hey, gotcha, I gotcha..." Stroking Mohinder through the last of his shivers, Peter kissed him sweetly. "You look golden when you're so pleased," he confided, then looked for something to clean his hands on. His jeans and Mohinder's slacks were probably going to stain...

Mohinder pressed a lab rag into Peter's hand and kissed him back, unhurried. "You're too much of a romantic, Peter Petrelli. You need to watch out for that heart on your sleeve," he murmured in Peter's ear, then took a step back and fixed his clothes into order. "I still have work this morning... but if you want to do lunch..."

"I'll be back," Peter promised, not quite as quick to rearrange himself as Mohinder.


	4. Thursday

Mohinder never got the hang of Thursdays.

It had been on a Thursday that he found out of his father's death, a Thursday when Peter Petrelli came to his apartment for the first time, a Thursday when he realized that Zane Taylor was Sylar in disguise. It had been a Thursday when Molly begged to live with him instead of going to a foster home.

This Thursday, Mohinder met the original radioactive man.

Peter was the exploding man at Kirby Plaza, but Mohinder hadn't considered too deeply from whom that power had been acquired. When he was given a radiation-detecting badge, a syringe of the newly-modified power suppressant, and a very sincere "good luck" from another researcher, he had a queasy feeling that he was about to find out.

The man sitting inside the isolated room didn't look all that dangerous. Four days' worth of scruffy, yes, moody also, but not like a walking bomb. Then again, neither did Peter.

"Hello, I'm Mohinder Suresh," he introduced himself, putting badge and syringe on the table and offering his hand. The man gave him a piercing look before shaking it slowly.

"Ted Sprague. I thought Noah Bennet was supposed to meet me here."

"I'm not entirely sure what's going on, truth be told." He sat down opposite Ted, folding his hands atop the table. "Did you come here for assistance in controlling your power?" Ted was clearly suspicious, so Mohinder went on calmly. "I'm a researcher with the company. We've been looking into safe ways to suppress dangerous or unwanted abilities." He risked a glance at the badge; it was still safely green.

"Last I heard, there was no safe way." Ted ran a hand through his already-messy hair and shook his head. "I'm not going to be a guinea pig."

"No one's asking that of you. It's your choice whether to accept the suppressant. I promise I won't just stick it in you." Wrong thing to say. Mohinder's mind was a filthy place to be this week.

"At least not without taking me to a movie." Ted smirked, and Mohinder couldn't help imagining what the man would look like clean-shaven and with a bit of a haircut... not bad, he determined. Not bad at all. "Okay, tell me more about this shot."

"Well." Mohinder cleared his throat, making eye contact with Ted. "It's effective almost immediately, and it works something like an antihistamine, essentially... it binds to the mutative element in your cells, preventing adrenaline from reacting with the source of your ability."

"Antihistamines don't last long," Ted pointed out skeptically.

"Nor does this injection. For someone of your build, it would last about... fourteen hours, maybe." The badge was more of a lime than the green it had been, edging closer to lemon. Mohinder swallowed. "Of course, this means that you can try it and discontinue use if you have any adverse effects."

"Have there been a lot of those reported? Adverse effects?" The more Ted blinked, the more Mohinder feared for himself, but he went on as smoothly as he could.

"About fifty percent experience nausea and dizziness in the first twenty-four hours. A handful have had headaches, fainting spells. But fully half of those who have accepted the formula have felt nothing more extreme than relief." He tapped long fingers against the syringe, then slid it directly between them. "It's your choice, Ted."

"I..." Ted sat back, rubbing a hand over his mouth; his eyes read of distress but the radiation badge held steady at yellow-tinged green. Finally, he pushed the syringe back toward Mohinder. "I wish you people had figured this out before my life got fucked up," he said softly, and began to roll up his right sleeve.

"So do I," Mohinder replied sincerely. The room had a tall cabinet, from which he extracted gloves, an alcohol swipe, a sterile needle, and a bit of gauze. "I hope that this might make your life easier from now on, Ted."

Ted didn't answer, just watched with a steady gaze as Mohinder sterilized his skin, readied the injection, and pressed in the crook of Ted's elbow until a vein showed. Mohinder was good with needles, something he had been grateful for working with Molly, and was grateful for now. Once the needle pierced the vein, he glanced up to Ted-- still expressionless, unblinking until the needle withdrew.

Mohinder held the gauze to the tiny puncture, wondering if the heat of the other man's skin was a byproduct of his internal radioactivity or if he simply ran warm as some tended to. "Give it a minute to circulate," he said quietly, not removing his hand from Ted's arm.

"I can already feel it, I think," Ted said, lips quirking up just slightly, the thought of a smile. He looked down at his right hand, past Mohinder's grip, and the smile filled out incrementally, until he was grinning. "It worked. It's working. I can't emit-- oh, thank god. Finally."

"It's completely muted?" Mohinder's hand slid down Ted's arm to his wrist, and it made sense: the other man's heart was beating like he'd just been running for his life, so agitated under that studied blank expression. "That's wonderful!"

"You have no idea," Ted said, and pulled Mohinder closer by the front of his shirt. "_Thank you_," he said, and lifted his face enough to press his lips to Mohinder's.

If the radiation was truly gone, then Ted had the hottest mouth Mohinder's tongue had ever licked into. Relief made people reckless, and Mohinder was experiencing the full force of Ted's unparalleled relief, expressed in the contact he'd been denied since his deadly ability emerged.

"God, I _missed_ this," Ted mumbled against Mohinder's lips, nipping at the lower one and sighing. "Missed kissing, so much." He pulled Mohinder onto his lap, hands not straying from his waist; aside from a hand brushing Ted's hair clear of his face, Mohinder didn't move his hands from Ted's shoulders. All that moved were their mouths, and that was plenty.

Mohinder felt compelled to put his best effort into these kisses. If he hadn't been kissed in years, he'd want the person who broke his dry spell to mean it, after all. Ted had a surprisingly gentle touch past the first few starving kisses, studying Mohinder's mouth with leisurely finesse-- all the time in the world and nowhere to go.

After a couple of minutes, Mohinder shifted astride Ted's lap, and they both gasped: it shouldn't have come as a surprise that they were both hard, they simply hadn't thought about it, too caught up in simpler pleasures.

"You're--"

"So're you," Mohinder breathed; he considered moving back but nudged his hips forward instead, watching Ted's eyes close and his mouth open.

"I'm not--"

"You can claim extenuating circumstances," Mohinder assured him, and palmed Ted's covered erection, squeezing a bit. "How long has it been?"

"Too fucking long," Ted gritted out, "Okay, yeah, if you want to."

"I do." Released, Ted was completely average, but he fit perfectly into the curl of Mohinder's hand, sliding through his fingers beautifully with a bit of saliva to ease the way.

"Oh, Jesus. Fuck." Ted snugged his face into the side of Mohinder's neck, stifling groans that could have been sobs. Tipping his head against Ted's, Mohinder wasn't surprised when the man came swiftly-- and he wasn't surprised when the cry that accompanied Ted's peak was "Karen."

Mohinder's collar was damp when Ted finally lifted his head; with tears or merely hot breaths, he didn't question. Ted's face was, for the first time, open and expressive, but with so many emotions displayed that Mohinder couldn't begin to unravel them.

"You're all right," Mohinder said quietly, kissing Ted once more on the lips, then on the forehead. "You will be all right." Ted had nothing to say as Mohinder slid off his lap, cleaned his hands with more wipes from the cabinet, came back over to smooth Ted's hair back. "I'll find Bennet and have him come meet you, all right?"

"Yeah." Ted's voice was throaty; he met Mohinder's eyes once more. "Thank you. For everything." Mohinder simply smiled, and closed the door behind him.

For once this week, it hadn't felt so important that he get off. Thursdays were weird. Mohinder chewed on his lower lip and set off to find Noah Bennet, as promised.


	5. Friday

Another thing besides 'hump day' that seemed to be an Americanism was the phrase "thank god it's Friday." Friday came every seven days; it wasn't like an unexpected event. That isn't to say, however, that unexpected events don't occur on Fridays, nor that sometimes on a Friday there may be a very good reason to thank one's deity of choice.

The first unexpected event was Claire Bennet's arrival in Mohinder's lab; the surprise was that her father wasn't accompanying her. "Hi, Doctor Suresh? I came to help."

"Are you my new lab assistant?" Mohinder asked, confused. What was it about lovely young blondes in his laboratory? Not that he was about to complain... Claire flashed a lovely grin, closing the door behind her as she entered.

"No, are you kidding? I can't even name half the things you use in here. I'm just here to do my civic duty and give blood." She displayed both arms, vulnerable side up, skin tanned a perfect pale gold. "I don't care what my father says about it. It's not like I'm going to die from blood loss, and if it can do some good..."

"Oh, it very certainly can. Thank you, Claire, it's a very generous thing you've decided to do." He could hardly hold back his delight; he was the one the invincible girl came to in this matter? What he could do with one vial was incredible enough. Having a pint to work with, who knew what unimaginable things could be discovered?

As he collected the necessary items, she made herself comfortable in his desk chair, spinning around and then stopping abruptly. "I can still get dizzy," she announced in a proud tone. Mohinder laughed.

"The fluid in your inner ear still moves around, it's got nothing to do with being injured." He looked over his shoulder to see her fiddling with his cup of pens. "How much blood do you want to give?"

"What's normal? A pint? I'll do two if I can have cookies and juice after. And maybe a sticker that says 'I saved a life today!' Do you have those?" Claire was absolutely giddy with the thrill of disobeying her father in such a positive way.

"I'm afraid I don't. I do have biohazard stickers..." She giggled, then bit her lip as Mohinder went down to one knee to prep her arm for the phlebotomy. "I'm going to guess you haven't done this before."

"Nope. Too young. One more year and someone from the blood bank would have been awful confused." Green eyes watched his every move up until the moment he slid the needle into her skin; then she flinched and looked away. "Is it silly? I've been burned alive, broken all my bones, crashed a car into a brick wall, and I _still_ don't like needles."

"Not many people like needles. Just because your body heals from them doesn't mean you can't still hate them." Mohinder patted one knee reassuringly, smiling up at her. "Ignore it if you can. It might take a while, I'm afraid."

"That's what I get for doing a good deed," she muttered, eyes rolling upward and staying there. "So... how are you doing?"

"I'm fantastic, actually," Mohinder admitted, holding back a smile. "It's been... a strange week, but a good one."

"Really? Mine has sucked. I failed a bio test, Mr. Muggles chewed on my favorite purse, and now I'm sneaking around behind my dad's back. Well, that part doesn't suck until I get caught," she amended.

"I'll never tell," Mohinder promised; she looked back at him speculatively, covering his hand on her knee with her own.

"Are you good at keeping secrets, Dr. Suresh?" Her eyes were the green of new leaves, lively and mischievous. Mohinder hesitated only a moment before nodding, and Claire smiled in that devious smug teenage way. "Good." Her hand was so small, but directed his so easily, guiding his fingers up her thigh.

"Claire, are you certain this is the best idea?" He had to protest once, give her one chance to reconsider, but she nodded immediately.

"Yes. Positive. The secret is, ever since that night..." She slid his fingers higher, "ever since Kirby Plaza, when I touched myself..." His fingers reached cloth, such a thin barrier to her hot skin, and she curled her pointer finger along his, dragged his fingertip along the dampening fabric that covered her slit. "I've been thinking of you."

Blood rushed south so quickly that Mohinder felt lightheaded. "Oh," he said, mouth dry and heart thudding and suddenly completely aware of every inch of cloth against every inch of his filling erection. "That's..."

"If you're gonna have second thoughts, could you kiss me first, at least?" she said with a quaver in her voice. She removed her hand to pull at his shoulders; he left his fingers just where they were, still and shaky against her panties, and strained upward to meet her lips.

Claire looked like a kitten and kissed like a wildcat; her tongue swept into Mohinder's mouth, a pushy debutante on the dance floor taking just what she wanted and claiming everyone's attention.

Oh, she had Mohinder's attention. His undivided, entirely rapt attention. He could do little more than let her attack his mouth, tasting of lip gloss and grape gum, staking her claim with a suck and bite on his upper lip. The realization that he could pull her attention away was delayed by the ambush, but when Mohinder's fingers twitched helplessly and she broke away with a breathless little cry, his senses came back to him.

If she was so determined to explore him thoroughly, it would be rude of him not to return the attention in kind, after all.

"Claire." Hooking her panties aside with his pinky, Mohinder touched her bare skin, slick and opening easily to even a gentle touch. "I'm going to go down on you," he told her, enjoying how her eyes widened and her legs shifted apart slightly more. "All right?"

"Ah? Yeah, that's--" Her hips shifted, a restless curve. "Sounds like a good idea?" Cheeks as pink as her gloss-smeared lips, Claire nudged a sandaled foot against his leg and pretended she'd had this done to her before.

"Just relax," Mohinder said, drawing her panties down; he was amused to find that they were plain white cotton when they emerged from under her skirt. How traditional. "I promise it won't hurt a bit," he added, waiting for her to return his smile before ducking his head beneath her skirt.

This was one of the sinful pleasures he hadn't had chance to indulge in too long: skirt above and below, bracketed by soft thighs, his whole world reduced to pleasuring one woman. Claire was shaved, laid bare under Mohinder's gaze, every plump rosy fold of her, the peek of her clit and the way moisture gathered, a delicious maze to trace his way through. She was gratifyingly vocal, too: cries of "oh my god," and faint chanted "yeah"s that devolved into wordless gasps as he teased over her clit, darted away to lick into her with studious care, and mouthed back up to where he began.

Her thighs squeezed around his head before she came, nails digging into his scalp and pressing him against her tightly. Mohinder had to remove her hands from his hair, loosening her fingers before he could emerge from under her skirt.

"I'm not sure that a boy your age could handle you," he said breathlessly, and Claire looked mortified-- mostly blissful, okay, but a little bit mortified. "You're very, um, fierce."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Oh god no. Not in the least. Just... unexpected." He retrieved Claire's panties from under his desk before standing up, and she blinked twice before taking them back.

"Okay, good." She stood up, looking at him awkwardly for a minute before rising to her toes and kissing his cheek. "This whole donating blood thing isn't half bad. See you next week?"

Mohinder was stunned speechless, watching Claire walk out of his lab. Second time in as many days he'd been left unsatisfied; this was starting to become a worrying pattern.

Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, the next unexpected event happened in about ten minutes-- just long enough for Mohinder to store Claire's blood, clean himself up, and get back to work at his desk.

Noah Bennet's entrance was abrupt, unexpected, and unwelcome. There was hardly a beat between his door being forced open and the growl of "Suresh!"

Mohinder wasn't sure if killing himself would be the most expedient way of avoiding the wrath of Claire's father. There was always a chance he'd survive Noah's wrath... a slim chance, yes, but a chance. He took a deep breath and turned, calm pasted onto his features.

"Can I help you, Bennet?" Noah was looming over him before Mohinder had a chance to stand. The older man was _pissed_.

"You can explain to me why Claire was in here. And don't lie to me," he added dangerously, glasses flashing a reflection of Mohinder's computer screen. Instinctively, Mohinder's hand flew up to cover his very guilty mouth.

"She offered her help with the research going on here." The less he managed to say, the better. Noah's eyes narrowed.

"In what way?"

"She wanted to-- she donated blood, she _told me_ to take her blood. Your daughter wants to help save lives, Bennet." A little bit of righteousness could go a long way... "You should be proud of her, not stalking her footsteps."

Noah had a harder grip than Claire, and no consideration that maybe Mohinder didn't feel like having his hair yanked, thank you very much. "You do not get to tell me how to raise my child," he said poisonously, glaring directly into Mohinder's eyes. "I am doing everything I can to protect her, and she insists on--"

"Defying Daddy to do some good in the world?" Mohinder cut in recklessly, wincing when Noah shook him. "Face it, Bennet. Claire's growing up. You can't make her decisions for her for the rest of her life."

"Damn it, you think I don't know that?" Letting go of Mohinder, Noah took a half-step back and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "You think I haven't had it proven to me? She thinks that just because she can heal from anything, she can't be hurt."

"She's a capable young woman. She has to learn to handle life without a layer of cotton packed round her." Mohinder stood, moving away from Noah and rubbing his head. "She'll be fine."

Noah didn't bother answering; he paced toward the door, then spun around on his heel and came at Mohinder, taking him by the shoulders and backing him against the doors of the upright refrigerated cabinet. Mohinder had the time to wonder if he was going to demand Claire's blood before Noah's mouth closed over his own.

"You think you're so smart," Noah hissed; if there was anger in his voice Mohinder couldn't hear it. The man sounded more resigned than anything.

"I _am_ that smart," he retorted, cocky and suddenly very sure of what he wanted. Claire had come to him to do something selfless, and he'd given in to the desire to satisfy her; Noah had arrived with nothing but demands, and Mohinder felt that this time, he was owed a little bit of satisfaction. "Smart enough not to lean on a box full of biological samples, anyhow."

Mohinder had as much chance of overpowering Noah as he did overpowering Niki, but he had surprise on his side when he pushed Noah back, turned him until those broad shoulders made contact with the wall. "What are you doing?"

"Right now? I think I'm about to tell you to blow me." Mohinder was transfixed by the way Noah's eyes darkened-- not with fury, as he feared, but with a speculative widening and a slight dilation of his pupils. Lifting the glasses away from Noah's face, Mohinder held his breath as his belt was efficiently opened and his pants lowered.

The company man's movements were economical, brisk and nearly dispassionate; his fingers were just chill enough for Mohinder to feel each fingertip make contact with his aching cock. Without his glasses, Noah looked oddly vulnerable, a knight without his tarnished armor. His hair was oddly soft under Mohinder's hand.

"Go on," Mohinder said quietly, "don't think about it, Bennet, just do it." He stroked his thumbs over Noah's temples, and the older man bowed his head fractionally-- a tiny submission, but submission nonetheless.

Dry lips brushed the base of Mohinder's erection, slightly chapped and resolutely closed as they moved up to the tip. Noah braced his hands not on Mohinder's hips but on his own knees, kneeling forward as if in meditation. Impatience made Mohinder's hips twitch, pushing himself insistently against Noah's mouth, and after a second's resistance Noah accepted the intrusion.

Perhaps a taste was all he needed to get past his initial hesitation; Noah tongued at Mohinder for a few moments, then easily swallowed him to the base. A dark hand slapped against the wall, Mohinder bracing himself against shock, a low groan escaping him. "Where the _hell_ did you learn that," he gasped, and Noah quirked a sardonic eyebrow at him-- though the effect was ruined by the fact that Mohinder's cock was stretching his mouth. "No, no, don't answer!"

The feel of Noah snickering while sliding his mouth up and down Mohinder's shaft was toe-curlingly intense. Cocky bastard probably knew it, too, because he kept going with the chuckling and the insolent blue eyes, nearsighted but too heavily lidded for that to matter much. Mohinder couldn't help catching Noah's face between his palms, feeling heat radiating off his cheeks and the shape of himself between the ridges of Noah's teeth.

"Almost," Mohinder sighed, and then Noah grazed his teeth up Mohinder's shaft, just this side of roughly, and almost became enough. Eyes closed, he barely realized that Noah had moved away swiftly, holding Mohinder aside.

"The maintenance staff are really going to wonder about that," Noah pointed out, coughing slightly, and Mohinder blinked in surprise at the filigree of shiny white semen on the matte white wall. "Of _course_ I have a meeting in five minutes. Damn it." Noah snagged his glasses from where Mohinder had hung them from the breast pocket of his lab coat, sliding them on and regaining his composure with that simple act.

"I--" Mohinder was still out of it, groggy with pleasure, as he watched Noah straighten his tie and run a hand through his short hair. "I didn't--"

"No, you didn't. My meeting should be over by three, though." Giving Mohinder the best magnificent-bastard smirk he could work up, he moved past him toward the door. "I'll see you then, Suresh."

Later, scrubbing at the dirty wall with a rag, Mohinder wondered exactly how he'd managed to not only mess around with both generations of Bennet, but also to secure a return visit from each of them. Obviously, it had to be divine intervention... thank god it was Friday.


	6. Saturday

When Mohinder went to bed next to Matthew Parkman, that's where he expected to wake up-- or at least, wake up when Matt got out of bed to go to work. Given, it was a new situation, but that's how things had worked since Tuesday night, and Mohinder was getting used to the pleasant routine. When he fell asleep Friday night, shirtless and comfortably pinned under one of Matt's warm and sleep-heavy arms, he expected to wake up there. Or wake up in Brooklyn, anyway. He would have settled for the United States.

He did not in any way expect to open his eyes to a small and cluttered apartment in Tokyo. If there hadn't been a window directly across from the couch where he awoke, he wouldn't have known it was Tokyo, but that was a fairly unmistakable skyline.

Also, there were two Japanese men speaking in low, rapid voices somewhere behind him.

"Excuse me?" Mohinder stifled a yawn behind his hand and sat up, looking over the back of the couch. The men paused to look at him, the skinnier one apprehensive, the rounder one excited.

"Mohinder! You're awake!" Pushing the glasses up his nose, the round one smirked at his friend. "I told you he'd be fine."

"You weren't so sure two minutes ago..."

"Er..." Mohinder was taken aback. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"I _told_ you you'd do it wrong." The taller one smacked his friend lightly across the back of the head. "I'm Ando. This is Hiro. We met you in 2008."

"But it's only just turned 2007," Mohinder protested, and Hiro's face fell.

"Oh, no. I overshot again." He sighed and came around to flop down on the couch next to Mohinder, his lower lip pushed out. "I'm sorry."

"Why-- _how_ did you take me from my house? And my time, apparently?" Hiro let his head fall back against the couch with a little groan, and Ando made a resigned face and sat on the opposite end of the couch, up on the arm.

"Hiro is a master of time and space. He can teleport. And you asked him to take you forward for a couple of weeks to work on your research so you could finish it in time for a deadline. Except when he went to get you, he messed it up, and now he owes me ten thousand yen. I told you not to do it while you were tipsy, _baka_!"

"Don't call me stupid," Hiro whined, leaning across Mohinder to scowl at Ando. "You're the one who kept saying 'one more shot, Hiro-kun, one more.' Jerk."

Mohinder sat back, slowly going from confused to entertained by the argument unfolding before him. These two were quite obviously longtime friends... no one else bickered like that. His amusement went completely off the rails when Hiro, shaking one hand at Ando, fell into Mohinder's lap.

"Oops," Hiro said, but he didn't try to get up. On the contrary, he turned his head and pressed his face into Mohinder's side. "Huh. You smell good."

"Hiro. Don't hit on the Suresh from the past," Ando said wearily, sliding down onto the couch to lift his friend off Mohinder. "I'm sorry, he hit the sake a little hard tonight..." He paused thoughtfully, eyes widening. "But he is right." Leaning in, Ando breathed in against Mohinder's neck curiously, then pressed a little kiss above the pulse point there.

He had just a moment to think _again?!_ before Hiro burrowed from his side to the hollow of his hips and Ando turned Mohinder gently to find his mouth.

Well. This certainly wasn't _again_. This was very new.

"I'm-- I don't know if-- I hardly know you two!" Mohinder yelped when Ando pulled away, almond eyes blinking almost sleepily.

"But we know you. We're friends... at least, you will be friends with us," he said reassuringly, stroking Mohinder's jaw with a fingertip. "This isn't the first time, Mohinder. I guess it is for you, but not us," he corrected, brow creasing with momentary confusion.

"Just trust us," Hiro called from somewhere around Mohinder's bellybutton, before he pulled the strings of Mohinder's sleep pants loose with his teeth.

"Okay," Mohinder said, giving in with a weak whimper at the swipe of Hiro's tongue along the line of one hipbone. Ando helped to nudge Mohinder's pants and boxers down, giving Hiro better access to bare skin and the light line of hair leading down into Mohinder's shorts.

"I hope we're not breaking the space-time continuum doing this," Ando said lightly before nibbling just under Mohinder's ear, making him groan at the unexpected assault on one of his hot spots. "Too risky?"

"Hmm?" Hiro rolled his head back against Mohinder's thighs, then abandoned his glasses impatiently. "I don't think so. Do you, Mohinder?" The backs of his fingers pressed against Mohinder's length when Hiro curled his hand around the front of Mohinder's pants, waiting on his answer.

"Let's take the risk," Mohinder said quickly, gaining a bright smile from both the other men; he really didn't have to do much, because Hiro and Ando weren't giving him much of a choice. Hiro had his hips pinned, and Ando kept him occupied with teasing kisses and light touches to the few places Mohinder was ticklish. It was beyond strange to have someone new to him know his body so well.

They were unexpectedly playful, too, carefree in a way Mohinder hadn't experienced in this weird week of rapid and uncontainable attraction. His fingers brushed against Ando's when he went to stroke Hiro's hair; when Hiro tapped Mohinder on the bottom to get him to lift up, he took the opportunity to grope Ando while pulling away Mohinder's clothes.

"You're not as thin in the past," Hiro remarked, drawing his hands down Mohinder's thighs gently enough to make his muscles tense ticklishly. "You don't look as tired." Laying his head in Mohinder's lap again, he nuzzled against the place where Mohinder's cock and balls met, all sensitive skin and heat and the thick intoxicating scent of Mohinder himself.

"Don't worry him," Ando chided, reaching down to stroke his fingertips up Mohinder's shaft, letting his thumb linger on the head, teasing until a pulse of precome slicked the way and he licked the taste from his own skin. "You still tast--" Mohinder cut him off, biting Ando's full lower lip and licking into his mouth delicately. He didn't need to hear comparisons; there were two bodies of smooth ginger skin that he wanted to explore on his own terms.

"Oh, do that again," he pleaded, spreading his legs to the dull scratch of Hiro's blunt nails on the skin of his inner thighs; Ando laughed against his throat and looked down.

"Watch him," he murmured, "Hiro likes to be watched when he does this." Before Mohinder could ask, Hiro glanced up mischievously and licked a wet stripe up the underside of Mohinder's erection before catching the head between his lips; Mohinder and Ando groaned in unison. "He's a showoff," Ando added breathlessly, fondly, petting Hiro's hair.

"You aren't?" It's half a question, half statement, and he would _swear_ that Hiro just _giggled_ around him. Ando grinned, brushing his free hand across Mohinder's chest and tweaking a nipple.

"Not like Hiro." He kissed Mohinder again, smirking when he pulled back. "You'll see." Nuzzling into the bend of Mohinder's neck, Ando watched as his best friend sucked on their abductee from the past, letting his hands play up and down Mohinder's chest and across the back of Hiro's neck, brushing back his dark hair to reveal closed eyes, a fierce look of concentration. "Hey, don't squint too hard or we'll end up in the Dark Ages."

Hiro rolled his eyes, pulling away with a slick wet sound and taking Mohinder in his fist. "If you want to criticize, you come down here." Mohinder quickly clapped a hand over Ando's mouth.

"No, no, I'll keep him shut up, please don't stop!" Ando laughed behind Mohinder's hand and rubbed a finger across Hiro's plump dark lips, his eyes amused.

"Since you said please..." Hiro bit at Ando's finger, nipping all the way to his second knuckle before releasing him, and then returned to what he'd been doing: easing his mouth around Mohinder, dragging his pointed tongue through the slit and under the head before swallowing him down, a definite pattern that kept Mohinder groaning and pleading. Ando licked Mohinder's hand where it still covered his mouth, wide swipes and then the trace of his tongue where his palm was sensitive, across the life line, down the curve of the love line.

"You have to tell him," Ando said as he pulled Mohinder's hand away, curling his hand around the back of Mohinder's and guiding it down to wrap around his own cock, pulling slowly. "If you want to come. Tell him you want it. Ask him." Full lips pressed below his ear, sucked gently, and Mohinder trembled when Ando's voice, pitched low, murmured, "Beg him. He likes that."

"Oh, god." Mohinder thought he could come if Ando would just keep whispering, but no, he turned away, they both looked down at Hiro, who arched an eyebrow as if to say _well?_ "Please, Hiro..." Just a hint of teeth, a light scrape against his foreskin, and Mohinder's voice broke, his need racheting up until the plea breaks out free of his pride: "Hiro, I need to-- please make me-- _please_!"

Before the last word cleared Mohinder's lips, Hiro cupped his balls with a firm hand, pressed up with two fingers, just the right nudge against Mohinder's perineum and he was gone, completely lost to reality with his head pushed back into Ando's shoulder and his thighs quivering around Hiro's steady, immovable shoulders.

He opened his eyes when Ando moved, Mohinder's head falling against the couch in his absence: all he could see was black hair, flushed ginger skin, Hiro and Ando kissing like their mouths were made for each other, hands clasping each other's faces, entirely contained in their two-person world that just happened to be meeting across Mohinder's body. They made a beautiful tableau, so clearly enthralled--

"You taste good," Hiro said, his lips curled up at the corners, and Ando nodded his agreement. "Maybe I should steal you from the past more often."

"Uh..." Mohinder couldn't help the confused look he directed between the time traveler and his friend; they both held their expressions until Hiro laughed and leaned in to kiss the edge of Mohinder's mouth.

"Kidding!" He drew an X over Mohinder's heart, fingertip catching on a tight brown nipple. "I promise. I'll stick to my time's Mohinder."

"But now you'll have a reason to think fondly of us," Ando added brightly, turning Mohinder toward him to kiss him, warm and open and secondhand-salty from Hiro's mouth. Hiro nibbled at his neck from the other side, and Mohinder didn't know what to do until each of them took a hand and guided Mohinder to touch them.

"Oh," Mohinder sighed when he was given a chance to breathe; he looked down, seeing himself bracketed by golden hips, Hiro's softer and Ando's lean and defined, and each of them sliding through his fists, very nearly of a size.

"Not so loose," Hiro murmured, his forehead pressed against Mohinder's jaw. "A little tighter."

"Faster," Ando requested, his mouth still working against Mohinder's skin, undoubtedly leaving hickeys from his collar to his ear. "Please, faster." It wasn't easy to focus on both, and Mohinder's hands made a shaky pattern, jerking them rough and hasty, their cocks bumping together from time to time.

Hiro broke first, biting down gently on Mohinder's shoulder to quiet an already-soft whimper, thick pulses of semen adding a opalescent shine to the glimmer of sweat on Mohinder's skin already. A moment later, Ando came too, his breath rough in Mohinder's ear and his spunk spilling hot across parted cinnamon thighs, stringing between them for a second before breaking and clinging wetly to the inner curves of Mohinder's legs.

In the laze of afterglow, Hiro and Ando cuddled Mohinder from both sides, heads laid on his shoulders, fingers trailing dirty shapes in each other's come and then lifting to taste, or to offer Mohinder a lick. "You are overwhelming," Mohinder told them, arching his neck to follow the tease of Hiro's fingertips. "Really too much."

"Hmm, you always say that." Hiro didn't sound too concerned. "But you're always up for it when we ask."

"You're adventurous," Ando chipped in, curling a hand at Mohinder's throat, a finger pressed against his pulse. "And very hot. It's a win-win situation for everyone."

Mohinder couldn't argue with that assessment, nor did he struggle when they decided that a shower was in order before putting Mohinder "back where we got him," as Hiro put it-- like returning a book to its shelf! The two of them made a very, very good team, and for once in his life, Mohinder thought that maybe two to one were pretty good odds after all.


	7. Sunday

If it weren't for the bruises, Mohinder would have thought that he'd just had a particularly vivid dream when he woke up on Saturday, but for all the sex he'd been having that week no one had given such sweetly bruising attention to that spot below his ear besides Ando.

Luckily, it was cold enough that no one thought it strange when he wore a scarf all day-- taking Molly to the Museum of Natural History, grocery shopping, even simply reading on the couch, he made sure that the layered linen was pulled high enough to flatten his hair in the back. When he returned from delivering Molly to her friend's home for a sleepover, Matt was already half-asleep on the couch, hardly paying attention to the football game (_American_ football, Mohinder thinks contemptuously); when Matt mumbled something about an early shift tomorrow, it only took a little persuasion to get him into the bedroom.

Mohinder wasn't sure when exactly Matt's snores started lulling him into sleep rather than keeping him from it, but when he slipped into bed three hours after his roommate, the warm solid body and loud but even snoring knocked him out easily. When he woke, stretching with a drawn-out sigh, there was still a solid warm body behind him, an arm around his waist. The clock read 10:13, and all that was on Mohinder's mind was a morning in bed with Matt: more time to tease out the secrets of that broad comfortable body, more of the gentle and fervent attention Matt was so willing to lavish on him.

He didn't remember that Matt had been at work for four hours already until the (too long, too slim, too deft) fingers working their way up his chest reached his lips, and did not smell of the familiar combination of Matt's body wash, his breakfast bagel, and his mild skin that still yearns for the Los Angeles sun.

No. This skin also smelled familiar: like cold metal, fruit candy, the lie of Virginia Beach and Montana. He pursed his lips against the touch, a tight press that disallowed entry, and tried not to panic. Matt-- was he at work, was he all right? Thank god Molly wasn't there! Were his thoughts out in the open?

"Good morning, Mohinder," Sylar breathed against his nape, fingers skimming down again, resting light against Mohinder's Adam's apple. "No need to panic. I wouldn't dream of hurting your... nontraditional family unit."

"Why are you here?" Mohinder bit off the words, sharp-edged with fear and anger. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

"Tsk. Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" He moved closer, until Mohinder felt the measured rise and fall of breath, the scratch of chest hair against his back. "Someone who's known you so _well_?" Sylar's head tilted, his mouth moving up to the shell of Mohinder's ear. "But then again, there are a lot of people who know you just as well now, aren't there?"

The air went out of Mohinder's lungs, and he would have moved away if he hadn't been held firm by a hand on this throat and a telekinetic force catching his hips and legs into stillness. "Have you been spying on me?" he gasped, outraged.

"Mm, spy is such a dirty word. So many political connotations. I prefer to say that your week has been _very_ interesting from a voyeuristic point of view, Doctor."

"And voyeur has better connotations," Mohinder said flatly, pulling a long throaty chuckle from his stalker.

"More truthful, from what I've seen. And to think you seemed so nervous when we were together... you've been positively pushy." Sylar's hand dragged down slowly, blunt nails pressing down just hard enough to leave briefly pale lines in their wake, until his palm reached the edge of Mohinder's boxers and his touch was light and hot, a brand pressed into Mohinder's skin and leaving him unharmed. "Tell me the truth, Mohinder, is that how you are? Pushy? Demanding?" Sylar pressed his nose into the round of one of Ando's marks, a bruise barely darker than Mohinder's skin that ached under any pressure at all. "Under that civilized veneer, are you the same greedy selfish animal as every other person on this earth?"

Mohinder's eyes closed, and he breathed in slowly: metal, candy, the heavy musk of mutual arousal, Sylar's breath sweet as fruit juice and his words bittersweet and rich like the darkest chocolate. Was that what he'd been this week? He thought back. He'd taken Elle like a predator, hunted her down in the halls; Matt had yielded to him and then he'd yielded right back, blissfully; he hadn't asked anything of Peter or Ted, simply offered and was accepted; the only thing pushy about how he'd been with Claire was how badly he'd wanted to please her, but Noah, oh, he'd been so selfish, and it had felt so good. And then last night, dizzying and strange and passive on his part.

"The truth," he said, finding himself smiling, "the truth is that I'm greedy and selfish and demanding enough to take what I want right _now_." He did what Sylar didn't expect, and turned toward him, letting the telekinetic hold give him the momentum to roll Sylar on his back, glance at the tall nude form, and straddle his waist. "And if you're so interested in how I am, then there's no need to be a voyeur, Sylar. You simply have to understand that right here, like this..." Bracing his hands to either side of Sylar's shoulders, Mohinder lowered himself until his lips hovered just above the villain's. "I will be pushy. And selfish. And I will demand what I want from you, and I will get it."

Forever before, a lifetime ago, Mohinder had kissed Zane with the tentative sweetness of a teenager on a first date. Now, here, the clash of lips and the assault of teeth couldn't be called a kiss; Mohinder attacked Sylar's mouth, the first volley in this battle of the war they were waging. All the adrenaline of his fear and shock became desire, anger lending a fierceness that he would only ever unleash on the man underneath him: the one man who deserved as much pain as he would get on the path to pleasure, the one man he could use and abuse without a guilty thought.

"Mohinder," Sylar gasped when he was released, his lower lip bloody and his mouth bruised red and wet as a pomegranate, luscious and tempting, ready for Mohinder to take another hungry bite. "I should tell you--"

"Shut up," Mohinder cut him off; he tucked two fingers between Sylar's parted lips and let himself take a good long look, finally, where before he'd had shadows, the lights off in a hotel room, the feel of skin under layered shirts, glimpses of the lean body below him without ever being able to take in the full picture.

He saw, now. He could see everything. The thick hair on Sylar's chest, so dark against pale skin that was beginning to flush red; the sharp relief of clavicles and the play of muscles, every bone and tendon in Sylar's body the same as any other person's: just as fragile despite his powers, every inch of his skin just as responsive, no more or less. Mohinder pinched a nipple and watched it turn taut and hard, feathered fingertips down the notches of ribs and watched Sylar's muscles jump in ticklish response.

"Look at you," he said, voice rough with the want to bruise, to mark, to _claim_ and prove he'd done so. "A greedy animal like every other person on earth, for all your claimed superiority." Lower than his breastbone, higher than his navel, a long thin scar showed the path a katana had stabbed through his body, and Mohinder gently covered that red line with one palm. "A wild beast who won't admit his desire to be tamed."

"_Please_," Sylar begged around Mohinder's fingertips, his lips wet from the unconscious way Mohinder kept sliding his fingers in and out. "Fuck, stop talking and take what you want!"

"That's it, prove my point." Shifting back just enough to feel Sylar's cock standing at attention, Mohinder smiled and pulled his saliva-slick fingers away. "Don't shift it to me. Tell me _you_ want it." He teased Sylar's nipples with his damp fingertips, unhurried and smug with his position of power. Below him, Sylar bucked, trying for some kind of friction, any change in the dynamic; Mohinder caught his wrists and pinned them to the bed, intense and fierce and mere inches from Sylar's face. "No. Not until you _ask me for it._" His grin wasn't kind. "Nicely."

"Oh, for god's sake," Sylar sighed, his rough low voice gone reedy with frustrated desire. "Mohinder. I want you, please, I need you to touch me..." Pursing his lips, Mohinder shook his head, clearly disappointed.

"Don't worry. If you won't beg properly now, you will soon," he promised, leaning to take the measure of the liar's lips, to taste the pride under his tongue and the loss of control behind his front teeth. "You will." Their stubble scratched each other's lips, pricked against Mohinder's tongue when he bit under Sylar's jaw.

"You don't know why you're--" Sylar tried again, this time shutting up when Mohinder tested his Adam's apple between his teeth, partly a sensual tease against raspy skin, partly a very clear threat, _shut the fuck up or I will show you what an animal I can be._ Mohinder nipped a tiny bit of skin when he drew away, bit it hard and left a violent red mark over the center of Sylar's throat.

"Whatever you have to say, you should have said before this." Releasing Sylar's wrists, Mohinder ran both hands through his thick soft hair, tipping Sylar's head back and to one side, studying the stretch of the tendons of his neck. "Or you can say after. But right now, all I want to hear out of you is begging, and if you don't... well, I'll do whatever I want, if _you_ can't ask."

They stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, and then Mohinder patted Sylar's cheek. "All right, then. Let's see if this can loosen that prideful tongue of yours." Sylar knew what would happen, saw it coming with wide eyes, and still he froze when Mohinder knelt up and dragged a thumb across his lower lip, followed it with the much thicker tip of his dick. "Open up," Mohinder encouraged, "I want it and I know you do too, so let me in, Sylar."

This wasn't what Sylar had expected-- not what he planned at all-- except now that Mohinder had taken control, everything had changed, and his plans seemed inadequate compared to the heavy scent and slick taste of the darker man being smeared against his mouth. The slightest part of his lips was an advantage to be pressed; slowly, steadily, Mohinder fed himself into Sylar's mouth and groaned at the tease of his inquisitive tongue. The mouth so used to smugness and smirks opened wide around the unyielding push of Mohinder's cock, and Sylar groaned, frustrated and still somehow pleased with the weight on his tongue, the way Mohinder caught the hand that he lifted and then let it go as Sylar reached in to feel Mohinder's balls with his fingertips.

It seemed like forever before Mohinder pulled out and let him catch a breath. "God, Mohinder, I'm going to break apart if you don't kiss me," Sylar ground out, unable to feel more embarrassed now that he'd been face-fucked by the smaller, weaker, ability-less man. "I don't care what else you do to me-- hit me, fuck me, throw me out, just _kiss me_ first."

The honest plea shocked Mohinder into stillness. Was that really all Sylar wanted from him? After all the mind games, the stalking, the careful dance of predator and prey, what he most wanted was to be kissed? When he caught himself, Mohinder shook his head, moving off of Sylar and stretching out next to him on the bed. "I don't understand you at all," he whispered, his whole body thrumming with potential barely restrained. Sylar closed his eyes, lashes like inky smears on his cheeks, his bruised and bitten lips barely parted.

"You've come closer to understanding than anyone else." Mohinder's hand stole up to frame Sylar's cheek, and the villain sighed, undone more by that touch than anything else Mohinder had done to him. "I want _everything_ from you. I want to do everything to you. But you wanted me to beg, and this is what I'm begging for, Mohinder. Kiss me like you mean to do something besides hurt me. Please."

The bitch of it was that under his anger, Mohinder did want to do something besides hurt Sylar. That face, lying and cruel so often, was as open and needy as Zane's had been, his voice the same, the same as it had been when Sylar had called for his help the night everything had gone awry: slightly frantic, pleading, yearning for Mohinder to give meaning to what was happening. Under all else, there was still a fragment of Mohinder that felt compassion for the man spread out naked and vulnerable beside him.

Mohinder tipped Sylar's chin, turning the arrogant cock of his head into a sign of submission, and leaned closer to fit their lips together in perfect communion. He didn't want it to mean anything, nothing beyond giving Sylar what he'd put aside his pride to request; the moment Sylar let his lips part, acquiescing to Mohinder's control, it meant everything he'd been suppressing since clicking the news link about a slain musician.

Desire. Affection. Fellowship, a shared curiosity, excitement that found itself matched and stoked higher. And even knowing what he did now, the truth about the man who was born Gabriel Gray, Mohinder was still curious, still fascinated by the most complex power ever displayed. Even knowing what acts those long pale hands had perpetrated, he still wanted to be touched by them.

This time when Mohinder claimed Sylar's mouth, it was a cease-fire to the war he'd started, a peace treaty to bring them together instead of leaving them rent apart in the aftermath. The places he'd bitten, he soothed with gentle licks; where he'd bruised, he was tender, and where he'd gripped Sylar's jaw with fury his hand cupped softly.

"Why do you do this," he sighed against Sylar's mouth, "how do you turn my world upside-down so quickly?" When Sylar opened his eyes, their dark brown was eclipsed by pupils blown wide; he licked his lips and swallowed.

"It's only what you do to me, Mohinder." His expression wasn't pleased or satisfied, it was _stricken_, still at Mohinder's mercy but expecting none. "Whenever our lives cross, you change me. You shake me to the core." Hesitantly, he reached up, but didn't lay a finger on Mohinder until a slight nod of permission brought skin to skin, allowing the touch that caressed the side of Mohinder's neck and settled at his nape. "However much I try to resist it," Sylar added, almost bitterly, "no matter if I think I have an advantage."

"Well, it's nothing I intend," Mohinder said blankly, trying to remember a single time he'd had the upper hand in their brief but unforgettable encounters. Sylar's lips quirk up, not in a smirk but an actual, if small, smile.

"It never is, and yet." The hand on his neck nudged, just a suggestion that Mohinder might like to move, and possibly in a closer way. "I can't explain--"

"You aren't the only one." Sighing, Mohinder let himself move closer; if kisses this good were going to be the holding pattern, he'd take all day to let Sylar say his piece. As soon as he leaned in, though, Sylar's free hand palmed down his stomach and loosely circled Mohinder's cock, fingers cool against the heat of Mohinder's skin.

"If we can't control it or explain it, maybe it's destiny." Whether he was breathless with wanting or with amusement, Mohinder couldn't tell, but he was finally willing to accept whatever the excuse for this happening. "What do you want from me, Mohinder?" Mouth-to-mouth, the question opened up so many possibilities-- answers, apologies, promises-- but there was only one thing he could say.

"I want you under me," Mohinder answered, pushing Sylar away from the kiss to pin his shoulders down on the mattress. "I want you to give in to me." He straddled Sylar's narrow hips, one hand firm on the heart-shaped thatch of chest hair, the other planting on the bed beside Sylar's head. "I want..."

"You keep asking for things you already have." Sylar's hands were broad on Mohinder's hips, and he leaned into the hand that Mohinder ran through his hair. "How much more can I give? You've already got my pride. I came here to taunt you and look where that got me..." He smiled. "Well. Not exactly a bad place to be."

Mohinder bit his lip, looking down at the villain he'd inadvertently defeated. "When we were together in Montana... I asked if you'd let me have you." Sylar swallowed hard and nodded. "You said you'd never let anyone. Was that true?"

"Yes." This tilt of Sylar's head looked halfway apprehensive, halfway excited. "I think I would have let you after a few days." Fingers stroking the back of Sylar's neck, thoughtfully tracing down the delicate vertebrae he'd touched before in rage-- and in wonder, before that-- Mohinder didn't smile, but he looked pleased nonetheless.

"It's been a lot longer than that." He stretched out atop Sylar, tasting his lips for a long moment, hand moving to cup his cheek; then he pulled away, left the bed entirely, leaving Sylar alone and admiring the picture he made: blue sheets bisected by his slender ivory body, dark hair spiky with sweat, dark eyes following Mohinder intently, his skin flushed red from cheeks to mid-chest. "Turn over."

"What if I want to watch you?" Sylar curled on his side, ogling Mohinder just as openly, gaze only diverting for a moment when Mohinder snagged a bottle of lube and a condom and tossed them onto the bed.

"It'll be easier if you just turn over," Mohinder said, giving Sylar's hip a little smack to encourage him. He followed the order with attitude, a cocky little wiggle that stopped when Mohinder grabbed onto him with both hands, squeezing his ass. "You don't have to be nervous. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm not nervous," Sylar muttered, but the tension in his back and thighs belied him; Mohinder sighed and rubbed his lower back gently.

"Tell me if it hurts, then." He drizzled the slick liquid onto his fingers, coating two and testing with the tip of one against Sylar's tightened pucker. "Relax," he sighed, "If you don't relax, then this won't be fun for you at all."

"It's not that simple," Sylar growled, but the more that Mohinder stroked over his hips, down his thighs, skated his fingers around to tease Sylar's length, he gave in fraction by fraction until Mohinder could ease a finger into him.

"That's it, like that." He was growing impatient now, pushing that one acquiescence and not waiting for Sylar to get used to being penetrated before adding another finger. "How's this?"

"Bearable." Mohinder pursed his lips, twisting his fingers and stroking inside until-- "Ohh. Okay. That's. That's good."

"Mmhm." It didn't take long, shifting Sylar's attention from the hand around his dick to the fingers in his ass, keeping him distracted until Mohinder unrolled the condom onto himself. No warning, Mohinder simply guided himself to Sylar's hole; his eyelids fluttered shut as he pushed past the tight opening and stilled just inside.

"Wha-- don't _stop_," Sylar gasped disbelievingly, "Mohinder, I swear..."

"I know what I'm doing," Mohinder repeated, not nearly as calm as before. Slowly, he pulled out, just to taunt Sylar, but with a purpose. "Turn over again, I think I want to see this." He pulled one of Sylar's legs over his shoulder and devoured this new angle of exposure, the vulnerability of the most powerful and dangerous man alive. "I don't imagine you get called delicious often, but that's exactly how you look now," Mohinder teased, claiming Sylar's body again with a series of slowly deepening thrusts.

No answer but for the low choppy moans that broke free from Sylar's throat as Mohinder worked into him; he reached out to touch and caught only one dark hand, gripping onto it tightly. Mohinder was enthralled by the constant motion Sylar embodied: back arching, head tossing, legs flexing around Mohinder's waist and shoulder, hands hungry for any extra contact he could steal. Pressing closer, Mohinder tested Sylar's flexibility and groaned in surprised approval when that long leg drew up easily; Sylar dug his fingers into Mohinder's curls and kissed him fiercely.

"How?" Mohinder breathed against Sylar's lips, getting a smile and a little bite in return.

"Would you believe me if I said ballet?" Eyes heavy with pleasure, Sylar stared at Mohinder.

"No." Deftly, Sylar wriggled a bit and then both of his legs were around Mohinder's waist, their chests flush and sweaty against each other; Sylar laughed a little and kissed Mohinder again.

"Good. It's mostly from yoga..." Mouth dragging over to the shell of his ear, Sylar growled, "and how limber are you, Mohinder?"

"You won't find out today." Ready to shut Sylar up now that he'd been challenged, Mohinder kissed him lazily but fucked him faster as the spark of heat at the base of his spine expanded; he wasn't overly considerate with the rough pulls he worked Sylar over with, but that seemed to do the trick anyhow. They raced each other to the finish line, urged on with sweat and pressure and the tightness with which each encompassed the other.

Sylar's come didn't go any farther than their lower bellies, so close together were they pressed. The sudden heat did more to push Mohinder over than the tightness, but most of all it was the way Sylar's head rolled to the side, the breathy but distinct way he'd sighed, "--hinder, ah!"

Mohinder made sure to keep his lips closed when he came, any sound just a rumble in his chest, and he didn't let himself relax for long in Sylar's arms. He allowed himself the small indulgence of nuzzling against Sylar's neck, breathing in the unforgettable skin of a man who played at being god, before standing up from the bed.

"Mohinder, wait," Sylar called. Sprawled on the bed, he looked wrecked, a beautiful mess reaching for just a little bit more destuction. Pausing, Mohinder looked at him wordlessly, and Sylar quirked his lips into a smile, stretching enough to run his hand down Mohinder's arm. "I'll be seeing you," he said. "Go take a shower." The suspicion was clear in Mohinder's eyes, and Sylar raised both hands innocently. "I promise I'll be gone, I won't poke around... What I came here to do is done."

"I'll refrain from the obvious joke," Mohinder said dryly; he didn't take his eyes off Sylar until he closed the bathroom door behind himself.

Sylar winced slightly as he got dressed, needing badly to get home and wash the desperation off his skin. Messing with Mohinder's hormones and pheromones had been hilarious, up until the point where he didn't fix what he'd done soon enough. Part of him was appalled at what had just happened, the submission and sweat, the confessions and passion.

The problem was that it never would have happened had Mohinder been in his right mind.

Sighing, Sylar closed the door of the apartment gently and started on his walk of shame back to his home.


End file.
